


Starvation and Liberation

by EvasiveCupid



Series: Fix-its, Additions, and Whatnots [4]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'm getting better at tagging, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Whump, Minor Injuries, Sad Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Spoilers, Touch-Starved, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26539399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvasiveCupid/pseuds/EvasiveCupid
Summary: Based around 05x03: Diablo! Their reunion makes me so giddy, but it is soured so quickly. I'm personally relating hard to Lucifer rn, so here we go.Also, this may or may not be practice for a much longer fic I'd like to write, if uni doesn't get in the way.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Fix-its, Additions, and Whatnots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741963
Comments: 4
Kudos: 192





	Starvation and Liberation

**Author's Note:**

> I beta my own work; all mistakes are mine. How is every holding up with COVID? I'm personally medically compromised, so I have been isolated in my home for months, with sporadic trips for groceries. So, have a fic where I take out my frustration on my own loneliness, and at Chloe, because she REALLY annoyed me for the first half of 5a.

“How?” the word is a mere breath, Chloe’s voice hardly working through the elation of having him back. She shakes her head, hardly believing that it’s the truth. And yet there he was, right in front of her, and the Devil never lied. She breathes him in, his hair tamed down with gel and winged shoots polished. It’s like he never left.

He smirks gently at her, gesticulating with his hands. “It’s a funny story actually. So, there I was in Hell, and – ”

She doesn’t let him finish, suddenly rushing into his space and throwing herself around him. He stops speaking all at once, momentarily shocked by the action. She clings, her hands digging into his shoulders, not a space between them; he wraps his arms around her in turn. He presses his head into the nape of her neck with a trembling sigh, a smile playing about his lips. They stand together for a few blessedly silent moments, finally together again after so long. Lucifer brushes his nose up against her neck, snuffling softly at the perfume she spritzed there early that morning. In Hell, the air reeks of sulfur and burning ash, and he relishes in the smell of clean linen and jasmine. Chloe runs her hand lightly over the Italian wool of his suit jacket. The fibers tickle beneath her fingertips. She notes the very fine trembling there, barely noticeable. 

Soon, too soon, they need to separate. She pulls him into the interrogation room, where the prying eyes disappear and they can be alone. He immediately goes to take her hands in his, as if reluctant to let her go. When he reaches to caress her cheek with a “my clever detective,” her heart sings. So, when she tells Lucifer that she is a gift from God, and his smile slowly morphs into a frown, it stings a little more than she expects it to. Another secret he’d hidden from her. And as she watches him scramble and tumble over his words, the most graceless she has ever seen him, she sees a new emotion light up his eyes: fear. A desperate fear, calling for him to claw his way out of the insurmountable pit that’s suddenly grown between them. Feeling something akin to shock, Chloe finds herself numb when she tells him “it matters to me,” finality ringing in her voice. Then Dan is there, calling them back to the case at hand, and she has to place everything aside for her job.

It doesn’t go away.

Throughout the day, despite her chilled façade, Lucifer seems to hover around her like a bird, seeking out her warmth. He never touches, never makes it obvious, but Chloe notices all the same.

She notices, when his eyes shadow with blink-and-you’ll-miss-it pain when she says she is overwhelmed by his presence and needs him to leave.

She notices, his shoulders becoming a progressively tighter line as the day wears on and she refuses to talk to him, each lonelier now than they ever were when truly alone.

She notices, when his charm and humor don’t hit quite right, and the king of Hell practically crumbling in front of her.

She notices, when he stumbles into her apartment, disheveled and bloodied and bruised. When his voice raises to a broken octave, his tone begging her in ways his words never could, for her to understand. To accept. To forgive. He drops onto the barstool in front of him, voice overwhelmingly devastated.

“I… I… I spent thousands of years in Hell, imagining our reunion. Getting my partner back. Getting… you back. And now…” he shakes his head, gulping down breaths, “I… I just thought it would go differently.”

Her fingers clench tightly around the porcelain of her coffee cup, the sweet smell of tea wafting up from its depth doing nothing to calm her erratic emotions. Are her feelings her own? Are they real? Does it even matter? Things weren’t easy before, but abruptly Chloe is wishing that she was never told that she was a miracle. Staring into her mug, wishing for an answer, she knows that she isn’t going to get one.

“Me too, Lucifer.” 

It’s all she can bring herself to say.

He breathes out, long and loud in the silence of the kitchen. “Detective… Chloe. I know that this is a lot to take in, and I don’t begrudge you that. But, for what it’s worth, I am sorry that you are going through this.” He pauses, unsure of himself. “I don’t know how much longer that I’ll be up here and I just… I would like to remember it fondly. Back at the precinct, before… you seemed as if you’d missed me as much as I’d missed you. So, if you could, can we just pretend it isn’t real? That Dad had no more to do with your creation than anyone else?”

She swallows, a hard lump in her throat, wanting for all the world to say yes. Not knowing if it’s herself feeling it or she’s being made to feel it is terrifying. Regardless, the want is there, and she knows that if he were to disappear tonight, she would forever regret not giving in. And so, she turns back to him, hunched and chastised on her gawdy turquoise chair. Her eyes are wet when she says “okay,” and sets about making him a drink as well. He’s silent as she does, eyes downcast to the false marble of her counters.

The steady hum of water warming fills the air, and she feels herself walking towards him, though she’s unconscious of the movement. She reaches a hand out to his forehead, gently brushing it over the bruise smudging his brow. He winces, but makes no movement to pull away.

“Why don’t you go shower? There’re some clothes that Dan left behind in the dresser nearest to the window. Top drawer.” 

He nods and stands, disappearing upstairs. Chloe takes the moment to collect herself, staring blankly at the kettle on the stove. She hears the water turn on upstairs, the soft, sharp rushing of the curtains sliding across the metal bar. Her breath is shaky but controlled. There is a very real possibility that everything she feels for Lucifer is fabricated, but how plausible is that? Would this so-called merciful God have killed a girl in cold blood, just for them to meet? She had found him repulsive when they’d first met. Their friendship had undergone a very real growth, budding into bloom slowly and organically. Love had come later, years down the line. Shouldn’t she have loved him immediately if she were meant to be his? How then did Trixie and Dan fit in? It didn’t make sense. None of it made any sense. There were pieces missing, pieces connecting wrong, and her head hurt from trying to shove it all together. And he’d had a point; how long would it be before he was gone, whisked away to a place where she couldn’t follow?

The water cuts off just as she’s steeping his tea, hers long since finished. He pads down the stairs moments later, still bruised but no longer bloody, hair a mess of damp curls. His posh suit has been replaced with an old, worn LAPD shirt that stretches tight across his chest, and sweatpants that only reach halfway down his calves. He looks sinfully rumpled, and sincerely annoyed about that fact. She offers the tea to him and motions for them to sit in the living room.

Lucifer settles carefully onto the couch, leaving her plenty of room should she desire the space. She sits next to him, honoring the gap, and flicks through her Netflix account, settling on _Bones_. Beside her, he sips his tea. He’s quiet, but thrumming with energy. “Are you okay? You won’t heal since you’re around me, right?”

“I wouldn’t heal regardless. These are injuries inflicted by another celestial being, not mortal wounds.”

Chloe nods and turns her attention back to the show. Lucifer’s tea is gone by episode two. By episode four, he’s noticeably drooping, turned in on himself but obviously fighting to stay awake. There’s a tenseness in his muscles despite his exhaustion, and she can’t help but feel sympathy for him. Before she can start to consider it a mistake, Chloe scootches down to widen the gap, reaching for his hand and tugging until he lays down. He hesitates only a moment before letting his weight drop, sinking into the couch, his head resting on her thigh. She expects him to continue watching the show, but he instead turns to face her stomach, sighingly deeply and curling his long body closer. The tension bleeds out of him seemingly all at once, even though he clearly doesn’t fit.

“You look very uncomfortable.”

“You’ve no idea how much I missed touching you. Being touched in general. It’s lovely after a millennium of nothing.”

She thinks back to the precinct, how he hadn’t shied away from her at all. How he’d immediately given into the affection, his breath shaky, body unsteady. 

“You’re usually more squeamish about it.”

“You would be too, if you hadn’t had a nonsexual intimate touch since before time was a construct. I’m not… used to affection. But I missed yours dearly, detective.”

Chloe threads her hand into his curls without thinking, the unusually unkempt strands tugging at her fingers. He makes a soft noise, not quite a moan, and presses into it. She does it again, and again, teasing at the base of his skull, rubbing over his shoulders, trailing as far down his arm as she can reach. At some point he tucks his nose into her stomach, eyes closed and breath evening out. His brows smooth and she finds herself smiling. Logically, if they stay here, he’ll be hellishly sore tomorrow morning. But for the moment, Chloe is content to just sit, the Devil mumbling about cool ranch puffs into her faux leather jacket.

She doesn’t quite understand what her life has become, what it perhaps has always been, or what it eventually will be. But this feels right, and as another episode comes to an end, she decides that that is enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> I always laugh a little at other fics where Lucifer borrows Dan's clothes. They are such different builds, but no one ever seems to acknowledge it. It honestly makes me smile so much.
> 
> I hope you like it! :) Leave a comment/suggestion for improvement below, and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
